


The Dark Triad

by Triyune



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Bondage, Cock & Ball Torture, Despair, Dominance, Drugged Sex, Emotional Hurt, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Exploitation, Gentle Sex, Hand Jobs, Heavy BDSM, Humiliation, Loss of Virginity, Love, M/M, Manipulation, Master/Slave, Masturbation, Mind Manipulation, Multiple Orgasms, Narcissism, Non-Consensual, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Personality Disorder, Rape, Rimming, Sadism, Sex Toys, Shame, Tenderness, Trust Issues, Unconscious Sex, Violence, Whipping, hurt without comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2020-10-17 07:47:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20617478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triyune/pseuds/Triyune
Summary: The Batman has confessed his love to the Joker. A pushing and pulling starts where each of them fights for dominance just to realize that there's more than power interests, humiliation and a certain pathological predisposition.Psychopathy, machiavellianism and narcissism are the three character traits of the dark triad.





	1. Psychopathy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Batman has confessed his love to the Joker ("Despair is my Viagra!"), who promptly asks him out and puts on a show for his favourite victim.

** Part 1: Psychopathy**

ICD 10: F60.2  
“A personality disorder characterized by a pervasive pattern of disregard for and violation of the rights of others that is manifested in childhood or early adolescence. A disorder whose essential feature is a pervasive pattern of disregard for, and violation of, the rights of others. A disorder characterized by conflict with others, low frustration tolerance, inadequate conscience development, and rejection of authority and discipline. A disorder whose essential feature is a pervasive pattern of disregard for, and violation of, the rights of others through aggressive, antisocial behavior, without remorse or loyalty to anyone.”

A few days ago, I had unambiguously shown him about my feelings for him. I had had arrived at point where I was sure that his sexual innuendos which he threw my way every, just every time we had an encounter, weren’t sexual innuendos but truth vocalized. A truth that should have sounded so ridiculous and laughable to me that I should have understood it as a joke.  
But it was the truth. I was sure about that now. A tiny remark there, a barely audible comment here. 

Did you miss me?  
I’ve been thinking of you.  
I am drawn to you.  
That’s amore.  
Flowers? For me? 

Not forgetting the chocolate box with the poisoned chocolates on Valentine’s Day.  
A few days ago, I had decided to end that game, admit and confess it to him. It had been a strange situation and I still wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it, but I knew that he had understood me. I had unambiguously shown him about my feelings for him. 

The next time we’d meet it would be different. He would know now that there was more to it than just a pyjama party for freaks in black and purple. I was excited to meet him again when he would know that his love would be returned by me. I was longing for the next time we’d see each other, hoping that it would be soon. That all was new to me. Would we just ring each other up and meet somewhere, like I did it with women? Would he bring me flowers or would I do that?  
Who’d be on top?

__________________

I licked my lips and told Moler to spread the info and to make sure that especially the talky subjects would hear that the Joker was going to rob a bank and circulate it. All the way down to the Bat. If I wanted him to get wind of that he surely would that way.

“Make sure you tell it to the right people.”

“You can take it to the bank.”

“I will.”

Actually, it was an abandoned bank, yet, there still were printing plates hidden in it. It was just the right thing to get started with. Some old, dusty printing plates.  
Two weeks later, I showed up there, prepared. The windows of the building weren’t there anymore, the floor was muddy and the iron rusty. A very romantic place. Shabby-chicdustrial, for the soft souls. To make it worse I put a candle on the counter, lit it and spread some opium scent. Then I started searching for the plates.

When I heard a moving of the air behind me I couldn’t hide the smirk. However, I dropped it instantly and turned around, fully into the realm of a dark figure.  
It was impressive. Solid, dark matter towered in front of me, motionlessly. I could tell that it was him, yet, something wasn’t quite right. It was so intimidating that I took a step back. As much as I tried to see his eyes, they were hidden from me. He was waiting in the shade, watching me. He didn’t bat an eye and though, I could feel his tension and the suspense. That was uncharted territory for both of us.

I took a step towards him and the darkness seemed to flee from me. I could see him more clearly now and I clenched my teeth as I realized that Bruce Wayne was standing in front of me, dressed in a fine black suit with a black tie.  
I needed a few moments to get past that shock. Just a few moments, enough to wake up my curiosity.  
And more than that.

Wordlessly, I took some more steps towards him and grabbed him in his crotch. He jerked but tried to hide it.  
Hard.  
Inevitably, my heart beat faster and I slightly tightened my grip before I let go. Admitted, that had been one of the tastiest things I had ever gotten hold of. Solid Bat dick.

The smirk returned to my lips and a little more courageous, I approached him again, letting my fingers slide over his arm and chest, feeling for his body under that silky suit, muscles as hard as his dick. I could have gotten used to that. And still, he stood there in silence, not moving, tentatively feeling for the vibe. I couldn’t believe that he had dared to come like that. I would have expected everything but that, from Arkham psychiatrists down to the police force, but not Bruce Wayne.

I took a deep breath and tried to shove those brainkilling emotions aside.  
His lips were just in front of me.  
I dug deep into my pocket and took it out as silently as possible so that he wouldn’t notice. Just when the bar clicked he froze, realizing that something had happened without him noticing. A prime mistake.

When his other arm joined the party behind his back he finally let me glimpse his eyes. Fear and love were there at the same time; he was nothing but a helpless victim of his humanity. Me, addressed in that way, felt puzzled for a moment. I couldn’t believe that I was causing these emotions. Somehow, I felt proud. And something else.

Gleefully, I moved closer again and breathed against his lips, then I cast up my eyes. We had never been so close. I couldn’t escape the magic of that moment, me myself just the victim of my own humanity as well. I licked my lips again, knowing that I only did that when I was lost in emotional chaos. It was a sign of my own insecurity.

I reached behind his back and applied pressure, making him take some steps to the left. He allowed me to push him down and when he found out that he was finally safely sitting on a chair his eyes expectantly searched for mine again. I sat down on his thighs and started unbuttoning his shirt. It was a cold night and though, I could feel his breath on my hands, cold and coming in fits, excitement rendering him completely silent. Dreams would come true.

When his shirt was open I pushed it aside. The most aesthetic example of a male chest presented itself in front of me, I could not deny that. Nipples that were begging to be bitten stood out against a smooth, pale surface and a small hole, begging to be filled with my tongue was waiting a few inches above the waistband. I closed my eyes and savoured the sight in my mind. Delicious.

I lightly touched his chest and he gasped, unable to hide that which had been building up for years anymore. When my forefinger brushed his nipple his thighs grew tight and I seized the confusion of the moment to move a little closer.

My crotch against his.

It almost drove me mad. So I tended to it. Slowly, I freed his pants from the belt and unbuttoned them. Just a zipper between us, a thin line of metal. Breathing hard, I looked up just to find him as ravished with lust.  
So it was true.

The zipper made way and I violently pulled his pants down, forcing him to comply without wasting a thought on it. When I straightened my back his dick had adjusted itself already and stood at attention. I did the same with my pants, dropped them on the floor and sat down on his thighs again, our dicks touching. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, doubting what was just happening.

It wasn’t that he was handsome, attractive or especially pretty. I knew guys and girls who were models and had the finest bodies and I knew intellectuals whose faces had assumed the shape of their thoughts – sharp and clean-cut.  
No. It was the fact that that man was so hopelessly lost, so fatally attracted to me which gave me the utmost thrills. No other handsome subject or sharp-witted individual could press my buttons as easily as a desperate man.  
And he _was_ desperate if he was loving me and waiting for my love.

I, on the other hand, didn’t have to think about anything at all. I had been declared insane and I was sure that he, like anyone else who knew me a little, took me for a capricious man. Maybe it was that which appealed to him most but anyway, I could do what I pleased and didn’t need to preserve any reputation. Thus, I could allow myself to get carried away with him without fearing any consequences. I was a cold and calculating asshole, able to manipulate the feelings of others and even mine when the situation called for it.

I looked him straight in the eye. Still, there was insecurity and a kind of despair in them which drove me mad. Grinning, I took both our dicks in my hand which drew a hiss from him and me. What a sensual touch; his dick pressed against mine was like an orgasm already. I made our foreheads meet so that our lips were almost touching again. In the end, I couldn’t bring myself to kiss him.

Instead, I started pumping our dicks and fondling his chest with my other hand. He squirmed and shifted, somehow trying to escape my touch and then again following my moves to get more of it.  
It didn’t take long and he was leaking; impossible for him to hold back. I let go of our dicks and started kissing his collarbone. It was so new for me that it was purely exciting. About ten coffees would have done the same to me. If he had not responded in such an inviting and approving way I would have stopped at unbuttoning his shirt already.  
It was the sweet bitterness of the first time.

After the fifteenth kiss I moved down his arm as much as I could, spreading kisses on it as well. On that occasion, I checked for the vein in the crook of his arm. That would work out.  
I continued with my adoration back upwards until I finally arrived under his mouth. He was patient. He didn’t rush me; he’d give me all the time I would need if I just stayed with him. What a desperate man.

While I licked his earlobe I reached into the pocket again and took a small but long thing out. A few more kisses on his chest, then I took his arm and twisted it a little so I’d have access to the vein. Before he could say a word I had pushed through the skin and injected the vodka.  
A stifling cry.  
A flashing grin.  
A gasp of breath.  
A small drop of blood trickled down his arm. I had never been good at dealing injections.

He gave a groan and I dared to look at his face. Instantly, I was back, my dick bobbing for attention. While he rolled his eyes and clearly was going less and less clear within moments I gripped his dick again and gave him a few good strokes until his head fell down and I heard him panting again. I bent forward and buried my nose in his hair. Olive oil.

I pumped his dick more forcefully until he tensed up. Shortly before he spilt his semen I pressed his dick down and made him cum on his pants. I had to admit that it was a purely erotic sight to have him handcuffed on that chair, almost fully naked and moaning ecstatically. He loved me so much that he didn’t hide anything.  
However, the finale was yet to come.

While he was busy sorting out his limbs and mind in the afterglow of that fabulous orgasm I gave him a second vodka injection which finally sent him into the land of lll, zzz and ddd.  
“Whaddiya...” was the first word or words I heard from him today. What a declaration of love.

I got up from his legs, freed him and pulled him up to make him stand on his legs. However, that turned out too difficult and he almost fell back on the chair.  
He cleared his throat and closed his eyes to make it go away. Yet, when he opened them again the world had gotten even nastier. After a pitiful moan he made a step forward and reached for the sleeve of his shirt.

Clumsily, he tried to pull it over his arm but after four attempts he still hadn’t managed. He generously gave it up and continued with his pants. Between pulling them up and buttoning them he made a few steps, tiny steps, first because his pants didn’t allow for any great strides and secondly, because he would have stumbled and fallen if he had dared to ignore the effects of that injection and proudly walk out of this.

With my eyes glued to that pathetic image I sat down on the chair and watched him, my dick in my hands. When he tripped up on an iron bar I felt a pleasure pang in my guts. I clenched my teeth and watched him how he kept turning his head, looking for the exit while it was just in front of him.  
Eventually, he had realized that there was a hole in the wall in front of him and he stepped through it. I followed him. With his hand pressed against the wall to support his weak knees, he made his way for a few meters until he finally collapsed.

Disgracefully, he fell backwards, his back hitting the wall, his legs giving way, making him sink into a pile of debris, metal and dust. I stepped in front of him and started pumping my dick again. The image in front of me turned me on more than any drug could have.  
Misery was my Viagra.

He coughed and gasped, the alcohol flooding his cheeks and giving him the most exquisite jag he had ever had. With a shaky hand, he tried to get his hair out of his vision but it was too late; I came and spread it all over his head, his despair fuelling my lust. Since I was sure that he would barely remember any of this I didn’t hold back and shamelessly moaned into the night.

When I felt the thrills fading I leaned against the wall over him and waited for recovery. Under me, the man gave up and allowed his body to slide down to the side. Covered in dirt, semen and shame, he finally surrendered himself to the circumstances. 

However, not for long. I expected him to meet with physical resistance.  
Indeed, a few minutes later, he convulsed his body and retched, but there was nothing to be thrown up. His vision must have resembled a merry-go-round ride, moving merrily. That, in fact, confused him. He tried to get up again but he didn’t even manage to sort out his legs and he gave it up again with a moan.

I had thought of everything but a camera. If I had had one with me I would have taken a picture of this to jerk off to later. Instead, I let my gaze slide down from head to toe for one last time, smirked and took a step back.

“Love you too,” I whispered with a grin, turned around and disappeared in the night.

______________________

The next day started without me. I just became aware of myself when the headache became unignorable. My ankle was aching, my back complaining, my arm hurting and my stomach sore. But the worst thing was a kind of headache which made it impossible for me to think. I swallowed and shuddered with disgust as I became aware of the bitter taste. Asking myself what had happened I tried to get up, which proved difficult since I couldn’t find any spot which would have allowed my feet to stand on safely.

While checking my options I remembered that I was carrying a phone with me. I called me a taxi and finally got up, yet, not without hurting my already sprained ankle even more. This was just hell. I knew that I had gotten there because of the Joker and that I had been sitting on a chair with him holding my dick until my memory had just gone black. I sighed and started moving. Until I had gotten to the spot where the taxi would pick me up I was all spent and very glad when the car was waiting for me already. 

“Wayne Manor.”

I did not miss the surprise in the driver’s eyes when he spotted that creature in the back of his car, dusty, scratches in his face and cum on his hair. If I had been the driver I would have kicked that shady subject out of my car. But I was Bruce Wayne.

In the middle of Gotham I felt the urge to throw up again, my driver’s skills just sending me back into that sickness. However, we arrived at my home without any disgusting episodes in the back of the car and I was glad to climb the few steps of my haven, finally.  
I pretended not to hear Alfred’s questions, left my clothes in the corridor and went, as dirty, sticky and drippy as I was, to bed.

When I was lying on my back, staring at the ceiling, which had turned into a huge rotating piece of paper, a feeling ascended and surpassed the headache. I took a deep breath and tried to give it a name, but I found none for it. It was a mix of many but the most prominent ones were affection and hurt. Just what had happened? Suddenly, I felt so embarrassed, for everything, just for every single thing I had done in my life and especially for those events which had taken place during the last few weeks.

I pulled the blanket up to my chin. What had happened? I felt somewhat abused, but that didn’t explain what had happened. I knew that he had dealt me an injection which had completely shredded my senses and I could remember scenes of what had happened then, but I couldn’t make sense of it. There was cum on my hair and on my pants. My cum on my pants. The driver had seen me like that; Alfred had seen me like that. I would have to think of a very good story. And an even better one for the semen on my head. How could he.

I felt a lump in my throat. Usually, that happened when I was too busy than to burst into tears. With a hurting mind and an aching body, I turned on my side and closed my eyes. But as much as I tried to focus on business plans and the numbers of the latest tax declaration he’d come to my mind, teasing me with his erection and his piercing look. I felt hurt and at the same time drawn to him. What had I expected, accepting these feelings for a maniac? A candlelight dinner or visit at the opera?

Yet, the thought of never seeing him again made me feel even more desperate. There was no way out. I pulled the blanket over my head and suppressed a sigh. Unbearable shame and an irresistible feeling of attraction tore me apart.  
I had not realize that I was just falling for a psychopath who had managed to manipulate me as cleverly as he had done it with many fragile individuals before.

Meanwhile, at the other end of Gotham, as far away from Wayne Manor as possible, in the Cherry district, the Joker was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. It was not a huge rotating piece of paper, but a playground for his projections.  
While he watched himself getting fucked by an exceptionally handsome man with dark hair and extraordinary stamina, he noticed cold sweat on his forehead. 

His heart was racing.  
Not out of excitement, but out of fear. He had tried to ignore it, but he was feeling cold by now, shivering. His body was bathed in sweat. As much as he dreaded that moment but he knew that he would call for him again. He had to.  
And he would hurt him again.

_________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't ever consider trying out an alcohol injection yourself. It does work, but don't take this as an encouragement in any way.


	2. Machiavellianism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You always meet twice. Bruce Wayne happens to meet the Joker again after that night just to find out that he is a natural pro at that game as well.

**Part 2: Machiavellianism**

"A personality trait marked by a calculating attitude toward human relationships and a belief that ends justify means, however ruthless. [...] one who views other people more or less as objects to be manipulated in pursuit of his or her goals, if necessary through deliberate deception." (https://dictionary.apa.org/machiavellianism, 28.12.2019)

Snow had fallen and had covered Gotham with a thick white layer. Although it was just ten days before Christmas and people seemed to run amok, trying to get their preparations done, I didn’t feel stressed at all. There was a kind of distance between me and that special day I wasn’t used to. Every year, we had that gala, several, in fact, and there was always company and I had always been looking forward to those days but this time, it was different. The events of the last week still wouldn’t leave me alone.

This one had just been another day when I had been feeling strange, from morning to evening. Something had happened inside me, but I couldn’t tell what it was. I decided to take a walk through the white streets and drove to the worst district of Gotham. I wouldn’t admit it, but I was looking for him. There, in that district, I felt closer to him without needing to see him in person. I parked the car and got out. It was calm there, the snow seemed to absorb any kind of sound although people and cars were passing by.

With my hands in my pockets, I went down the first street, passing cafes, people and other sort of things which did not reach through to my mind.  
As I was walking down the fourth street and turned my head to the left I stopped abruptly. I needed another moment to believe myself. Frowning, I peered at the figure behind the glass. The pane was steamed up from the many people inside. It looked like that sort of cafe where I would spend hours, if I could spare them. And apparently, so did he: The Joker was sitting right behind the pane on a bar chair, a bottle to his right on the table.

Slowly and carefully, I took some steps back until I thought that he wouldn’t see me anymore while I still could watch him. His posture told me that he wasn’t in his cheeriest mood. He filled up his glass. Humiliation, pain, disappointment. Immediately, the images and feelings were in my head again and I clenched my teeth. I wanted to run. Yet, I was aware that I could not run away forever; eventually, we’d meet again somewhere and I didn’t want that thing to be between us when he was about to rob a bank or kill a dozen people. The most effective therapy was just confrontation. Many times in my life, I had been facing such situations and I was old enough to know that I just had to pluck up my courage and approach him.

He downed the liquid and refilled the glass right again. The odds were in my favour. With a faint smile forming on my lips already, I pushed those feelings away and told myself that no matter what would happen there, I’d be fine. Presumably, he was drunk, it was a public cafe and both of us were in plain clothes, although him being in plain clothes didn’t mean much more than him just not wearing the purple swallow-tail coat and the green ribbon. Again, I told myself that I wouldn’t back down and feed my fear but that I was just as much of a man as he was. 

That helped enough to make me move. As silently as possible, I entered the cafe and made my way to the end of the room where he was sitting. The cafe was pretty crowded and though, no one dared to sit next to him. Menacing vibrations.  
I stopped in the middle of it and watched him. Some people around me turned their heads to see what had caught my attention just to turn around as quickly as possible again and pretend to never have looked at him at all.  
He looked the worse for wear.  
Which cheered me up to no ends. I’d come out on top of this in the end.

When I continued my silent approach I swore to myself that whatever would happen today I would return the like and end this. If he wanted it that way he’d get it. I had been a fool to tell him about my feelings, believing that that man ever could return anything as pristine as love. A terrible feeling spread in my mind and body. I felt it for the first time in my life, but it felt so good. Spurred on by that impulse, I took the last few steps in silence, then took the chair next to him, pulled it back so it made a horrible noise and let my body fall down on it.

He, his chin propped up, closed his eyes, annoyed by the disturbance. Slowly, very slowly, he turned his head, his eyes still closed, to face the intruder. When he finally opened it to deal me a frosty look he gave a start at the sight in front of him.  
I was looking at him with a mischievous smile, ready for a challenge. The next moment, he tried to get up from the chair hurriedly, but I pulled him down again.

“Hi there,” I said, trying to be as saucy and confident as possible.

I could watch him thinking. Behind that wrinkled forehead, a million thoughts were passing the authority of drunken reason. It seemed to be a very ineffective process since he didn’t say anything for two minutes.

“I was just walking down that street and saw you.”

I acted like nothing had happened, like that sick rendezvous never had taken place a week ago. I was curious what he would make of my attitude. He looked at me, his forehead still in wrinkles, telling me that he didn’t believe one single word of my explanation. I could feel his forlornness.  
The terrible feeling grew.  
Expanded.  
It felt awesome and at the same time, I was afraid of it.

His look told me that he was confused. And drunk. I could feel insecurity.  
And I fed on it.

“Here alone?”

I bit down on my lip for giving him that macho pick-up line.  
However, he didn’t reply anything but kept staring at me. Somehow, he couldn’t put one and one together. He might have expected me to storm the cafe and choke him or something like that, but I was sure that he had not expected me to blow smoke up his ass after all that had happened. 

“No girlfriend to accompany you?” I continued teasing him.

He licked his lips and looked at me, annoyed.

“If you,” he coughed and cleared his throat, “want to make fun of me, go ahead. It’s not like no one ever tried to.”

I eyed him. Something was wrong. He didn’t seem to be motivated to talk, nor joke, nor fight me in any way. It was blank unimpressedness. What had I done wrong? 

“I’m so tired of it,” he started again, all by himself and I jubilated in silence, knowing that he’d tell me the story of his life now.  
However, he stopped after those words and pinched the brick of his nose.

“All those people, cattywampus, look how fast they are walking...how superficial.”

I propped my chin up and prepared for another one of those “I am genius and everyone else is just a superficial, moronic dumbass” speeches. I knew him in and out.

“They’re buying shit for people. Who don’t need it anyway.”

Somehow, I wasn’t sure about that anymore. His thoughts seemed to be even more disjointed when he was drunk.

“So?”

“So?” he repeated and looked at me, frowning. For a few moments, he stared at me and when he felt that it was becoming too personal he turned his head to look at the street again which still lay behind a layer of steam. 

“I should be out there too, buying shit no one needs.”

It was obvious that he was indulging in self-destruction. A man could always find a reason for drinking without revealing the obvious, but he didn’t even try to. I tried to save the situation by making a joke.

“Aw, a can of compassion for you. A small one.”

“Just fuck off!” he snapped at me, suddenly noticeably irritated, “I never asked you to sit down and pity me!”

He filled his glass again. Only then I realized what he was just doing. It was a moment of total clarity; a kind of moment which I usually never had when I was dealing with him. But this time – this time I understood him. After our encounter he had faced the same feelings, I was sure now. His behaviour pattern just pointed to that. One part craved me, the other part loathed me, otherwise he would have gotten up and left the cafe or he would have appreciated my presence, but he was doing neither of that. Why, I knew very well. He couldn’t handle any kind of closeness. His behaviour had just been a healthy reaction to deal with that situation. I found myself right in the middle of a push and pull relationship, if one could call that a relationship at all. I doubted that he was aware of it.

With me, it was a kind of love-hate relationship by now, 50% curiosity, 40% hurt and 10% whatever. For a moment I considered getting drunk next to him too.  
That much was certain, I couldn’t love that man like I would have loved an ideal partner. And it wasn’t even love per se. It was a strange fascination without the need to sit by the fire while having a glass of sherry together, or the urge to bring him flowers. Yet. I knew that there were entirely new worlds to discover with him. I just had to push him.

“Maybe I can help you feel a bit less down.”

He gave me a condescending smile.

“Yeah? I bet so.”

In the blink of an eye, he returned to his usual attitude and tried to cement his dominance. He let me feel his superiority; all the feelings from our first meeting surfaced again at these words.  
What a cold asshole. But that wasn’t new. I had finally understood that he was profoundly sick and maybe even unable to feel love. I asked myself what I was doing there, actually, wasting my time on a man who would never be able to return any of this. But I wasn’t here because I loved him, this time.  
I took out my cell phone and texted a message, then I took a swig from his bottle. One minute later, I had received a reply. Room 8. I confirmed it with another message, then I put the phone away.

“Business stuff,” I said calmly, “How about we go somewhere else?”

“Where?” he sneered at me, the alcohol turning him into a storybook macho.

“I know a place. A safe space.”

His sneer turned into a leer.

_How desperate you must be to ask me out after all that’s happened..._  
I could hear his thoughts. I could see it in his eyes. That was just what I wanted.  
I got up and left the cafe, waiting for him outside. It took longer than expected until he finally appeared there. He was wearing a black fur coat.  
I called us a taxi and got us to the place. During the drive, he didn’t say a word, but he kept sight of me.

I paid finally, we got out and I went to the corner house. It was an average house with tinted window panes. We entered through a simple black door. The man greeted me in silence and I passed him to climb the stairs. He followed. I went to one of the many doors and entered a code on a device next to it. The lock clicked and I opened the door. This was the moment when I became aware of it again. A low buzzing in an idle area of my brain. I was about to explore new worlds.

It was a room I had visited about a month ago; I knew it. The walls were painted red, all other stuff was black; the rack, bench, bed, curtains and candles, everything. I waited till he was by my side, then turned my head to give him an insecure look.  
On the inside, I was dying of glee.  
He smirked at me, feeling superior at seeing that all that was just his metier.

“Nice choice,” he said. It was meant to make me feel even less secure and I returned a doubting look at him.

He closed the door behind us and strolled about to look at things. I went to the dresser and took a bottle of champagne, together with two glasses. Then I opened a drawer and took a sachet out. I took one pill and dropped it in his glass, filled it with champagne and mine as well, then waited for him to return. Until then, the pill had already dissolved. I handed it over to him and we clinked glasses and drank.

His mindset had not changed at all; he was still believing that he was going to use and abuse me at his leisure. And I had even offered myself to him deliberately. I tried to hide the smirk while I emptied the glass. Today, I would allow myself to not be myself. Without regrets. Without remorse. That feeling was too compelling than to suppress it.

When the glasses were empty I approached him with seductive eyes and unbuttoned his shirt. He flashed a smile and held still until I was done. I snuck a hand under the fabric and rubbed his nipple which made his eyes flutter. I was hard. Thinking of what I would do to him tonight together with the lustfulness he just displayed made me hard long before I would actually fuck him. I had to wait for him to catch up anyway.  
And as if he could read my thoughts he grabbed my genitals and made me hiss.

“You shouldn’t _have_,” he said, smirking. 

“But I did,” I replied, moving closer and bluntly kissing him on his lips.

For a moment, I could feel his hesitation, his insecurity, his confusion and my dick twitched. I wanted more of this.  
When he finally started kissing back I wound my arms around him and gently returned his tender sucking. I wanted him to believe that I was just a closeted fag, a bit on the pervy side but other than that, harmless; just a desperate man who was looking for guidance.  
By now, I could feel his hard-on against my stomach. It was about time.

I took a step back and undressed as well, however, I kept my underpants. It was not to hide my dick, it rather was to tease him. I knew that he had seen my dick already the first time we had met, but I wanted to grind his gears.

“I’m yours,” I said, presenting my body to him, “What would you like to do?”

Calmly, he looked at me, sizing me up. Confidently, I stood his appraising look, patiently waiting for him to decide. I could see the question in his eyes. He was debating on something and it took him a while to come to terms with it.

“Give me marks,” he said, finally. His voice was barely more than a whisper.

I had him. Clenching my teeth to hide the smirk at that joy, I took a deep breath. From now on, he was at my mercy, physically and mentally. Within a second, our status had changed and I was sure that he wasn’t aware of that. He thought he could still dominate me from that position.

I passed him and went to the shelf with the toys, returning with a riding crop in my hands. When he spotted it he went to the cross in the corner of the room and turned around, sexily posing next to it to invite me to tie him up there. I granted him the illusion of holding the reins and joined him. When his body finally formed that X I took a step back and gave my dick a squeeze through the briefs. 

“Excuse me,” I said and went to the shelf again to get me a penis ring. He was peering over his shoulder, watching me. I was glad that he saw that since it would just assure him of my dilemma: that I was helplessly drawn to him.  
I took the crop and he turned around again. For a second, I was unsure about what to do. Should I really?  
His white skin was an invitation. As white as marble, pure.  
I wanted to see it bleed.

I lightly touched a spot on his upper back and then whipped him just a little harder than the touch before. I waited for a comment by him but he remained silent. I repeated that three times until I let the whip bite him. The sound of the leather hitting his skin was delicious; yet, his scream was even more delicious. I had caught him by surprise. My dick responded accordingly and I finally let go of everything that had been me or was supposed to be me. With a dick as hard as a rock I took a step back, breathing heavily. That was it.  
A dark kind of lust was seizing hold of me.

I got rid of my briefs and approached him again. Mercilessly, I dealt him one lash after the other, each making him squall in pain until his back was sore. Blood trickled down his white skin. Red on that epic white. I almost lost it. Breathing so hard that I almost felt embarrassed, I looked at him, watching the red lines becoming longer and longer. It was a timeless moment. Deep red.  
Finally, I became aware of my game again. I looked up to check on him. His head was bent, his breath came in fits and his body was shaking. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes to save that image and feeling in my long-term memory.

Wordlessly, I freed him and he leaned against the bar, obviously needing some more moments to gather himself.  
The power made me drunk. I went to him and reached for his dick to give it a squeeze. He jerked and gasped, that finally throwing him completely. He clutched at my hand to move it away.

“I just wanted to see whether I’ve done it properly.”

Still panting hard and without dealing me one single look, he somehow made it to the bed where he sat down, his head bent. Yet, I could see his eyes; he was still trying to overcome the pain. However, his hard-on told me that he had enjoyed that as much as I had.  
Humbly, I knelt down between his legs to inspect his dick. It was neither too small nor too long, it was just a good piece of dick. I doubted that he’d fill me up wholly, but it was the prettiest one I had ever seen. So white. The chemicals had dyed everything. And though, there was a tinge of pink. Exciting.

I made my breath hit the glans and he leaned back, propping himself up on his elbows, careful not to touch the sheets with his back. Somehow, I was sure that he had not taken a shower today yet and I just wasn’t enough of a hardcore fag to suck his cheesy dick like it was my favourite ice cream flavour. I just got up, fetched a wet towel and cleaned it unceremoniously. His vibe changed and I felt discomfort and even embarrassment. He was feeling like having lost his face. And he had to repair that fast, otherwise it would leave permanent damage in his head, narcissist that he was. 

He took the towel from me and threw it away. His eyes were gleaming with fury. Oh that had hit home. Confused, I looked up at him, pretending to not get the problem. He slapped me so hard that my cheek hit his knee. Instantly, I felt another feeling welling up inside. It was similar to the other one, but different though. Perplexed, I lifted my hand and looked up at him. Was it the same feeling?  
He took my hand and placed it on his dick, but I wasn’t ready for continuing yet. Images of our first meeting came to my mind again, but they were different.

I took a deep breath, stored that stuff away for now, grabbed his dick and closed my lips around it.  
I had been wrong. It _would_ fill me up.  
It was a new feeling to touch that hard flesh with my tongue and to test its hardness with my lips. So hard. I was so excited; I was sucking the city’s most dangerous man’s dick while he approved of it by moaning and squirming with pleasure.

I gave him a hand and blow job at the same time while I stroked my own dick. Without complaint, he let me do it. If I had been in love with someone I would have been much too bashful than to show that person my genitals so readily or even let her touch them, but he didn’t seem to have any problem with that. His bloated self-confidence just helped him there.  
We’d see.

I left my dick alone and started fingering him to stretch his ass. He jerked when he felt them entering; he had not been prepared for that. Though, he let me stretch him while I kept sucking him off. He himself was leaning on the bed, watching me like a king benevolently watching his subjects at work.  
When I was sure that he could take me without problems I got up and told him with a move of my head that he should make way while I removed the cock ring. He got it and lay down on the bed.

My glorious hour had come.  
I climbed the bed, placed his legs on my shoulders and held my dick in position. Before I started I checked on his eyes. Excitement, curiosity and darkness. That was what I needed. I pressed the tip of my dick gently against his anus and when he didn’t object I let it slide in. The sensation almost made me topple over. It was so very different from entering a vagina.

I needed some moments to pull myself together which he seized to clench his ass several times just to confuse me even more. Driven by blind passion, I grabbed his thighs and pushed my dick further in. It drew a moan from both of us, almost the same pitch. It felt so good that I didn’t even ask myself whether I was doing something wrong. Encouraged by his sounds, I started moving back and forth, in and out. I couldn’t withstand the temptation to look down and watch my hard dick disappearing in his ass so effortlessly and elegantly. When I looked up I found him smirking at me.

Irrespective of his newest attempt to make me feel insecure I kept moving and closed my eyes to concentrate on the physical sensations.  
Eventually, I entered a kind of trance, concentrating on not more than the effects of our intercourse. I got lost in our bodies meeting and I indulged in the emptiness of my mind, just skin against skin. It was a good rhythm, not exhausting me or demanding too much of him nor too ineffective. Both our dicks grew to their maximal size.

Right in the middle of it I withdrew. Immediately, he opened his eyes to ask me what was happening. He looked right into a row of white teeth. Smiling widely at him, I waited a few seconds and pushed it in again. When my glans was past his muscles he tensed up and groaned. I drew back again and waited for him to beg me with his eyes to continue.  
He searched for my eyes again, yet, I did not see in them what I wanted to see and so I kept waiting. Impatiently, he shifted and moved his ass, but I wanted to see it.

A few more seconds of withdrawal and there it was. Complete devotion, for a moment, but enough to make my dick twitch. I rammed it into his ass and quickly moved back again. He opened his mouth so as to silently beg me to do it again and I did.

“You can do better than that,” I whispered, giving him an evil grin.

He eyed me up, then propped himself up on his elbows again and fixed his gaze on me.

Slowly and with as much honesty and craving in it as possible, he whispered: “Please”.

I closed my eyes and penetrated him again, this time continuing my rhythm to fuck us into orgasm finally. I came with a loud moan and let myself fall down on him. Just then, I felt his cum spreading between our bellies as well and his arms wound themselves around me to embrace me. His breath came in fits, but I heard no sound. He had held back; a silent orgasm. But I didn’t mind.

Laboriously, I got up from the bed and went to the shelf to get me something. I had to be quick.  
With handcuffs behind my back I joined him on the bed again, smiled at him for a moment and then swiftly tied his hands to the bed frame. He was too spent than to offer resistance and so it was easier for me to do that than usually. Usually, I had him kicking and punching me before I could catch just one wrist to cuff him.

“Ahaaah,” he laughed lethargically.

I got up again and poured me another glass of champagne while he was trying to catch his breath. I took my time to empty the glass and when I had somewhat recovered I got the rest of the items for my plan. With the tools I returned to the bed where he was waiting for me already, frowning.

Without saying a word, I forced him to bend his legs and then wound a rope around his ankle and thigh so that he couldn’t stretch them anymore. Then I took the straps which were hanging from the bed and connected the trigger hook with the ropes so that he couldn’t close his legs anymore either. Proud of my work, I took a step back and looked at it.

His ass was the tastiest thing I had seen for quite a while. The dark hair around his anus caught my eyes. It was something so intimate that I couldn’t avert my eyes. Absent-mindedly licking my lips, I followed that line of hair upwards just to meet with his balls. A perfect pair of nuts. And above that, a dick on the way to hardness again. That sight made the adrenaline kick in and I took a deep breath before I dared to look at his face.

He was looking at me from below, his lips pressed together; a stern look, almost defiant, telling me that he was feeling too much right now than to say or do anything. I wanted to test him, I wanted to see how much he’d take before he would start complaining. I fetched something from the shelf and then knelt down between his legs. He saw what it was, but he didn’t say anything at that. When I cupped his balls he jerked. He was feeling embarrassed, I could tell that, but I didn’t let him feel my superiority at that time.

With skilled fingers, I pulled on his scrotum and let the two pieces of the stretcher click together. They were held by magnets, the safest and easiest way to put it on and remove it. He shifted and his breathing rhythm changed. I wasn’t sure whether that was a good or bad sign. Anyway, the sight made me ignore that. Full, firm and perfectly round. The skin was so white that I could see the veins shimmering through it. I felt compelled to touch them. 

He moved again when my fingers carefully touched them. It was an awesome feeling. So tight. I squeezed them and he moaned. Discomfort, for sure. However, I didn’t know yet what kind of discomfort turned him on and what kind of it served to turn him off. Until now, just everything had seemed to turn him on.

And me too.

Inhaling sharply, I pushed that thought to the darkest corner of my mind and bent down to lick his nuts. I had to feel them in my mouth, on my tongue. I closed my eyes and dedicated myself to kissing and sucking these tight balls. Whenever I bit down on them, just lightly, he gasped. That sound was like a bliss amplifier; the more desperate he sounded the more I revelled in bliss. And he could bear a lot.  
Eventually, his legs started trembling and I stopped; I didn’t want him to come yet. Not in that way, at least.

I straightened my back and reached for a pillow which I placed under his hips so that his ass was elevated. I took the cock ring from the bedside table and put it on his dick. I earned me an angry growl which I ignored. Greedily, I nudged his opening with my glans, asking him to relax. When I saw the muscles moving I pushed it in to the hilt which drew a deep moan from me and him. It never ceased to turn me on. He was the only man with the only ass in the world who managed to make me hard without doing anything. And that was alright.

My cheeks were already flushed and I didn’t need much to come; though, I wanted to delay my orgasm. Slowly, I started moving, up and down on him, coming closer and leaving again. My body was wet and I felt like during a workout, just that this was much more fun. While I smiled at him benevolently, he was obviously busy with sorting things out, his eyes telling me that my dick in his ass wasn’t the only challenge right now.  
Smiling, I continued my journey in and out until he had settled with it. He clenched his ass and my dick slid from it. I growled with displeasure and tried to push it in again, but he didn’t let me.

“Fuck you, I want to come,” he snarled, “If you don’t remove that shit I won’t let you come at all.”

His words surprised me. In fact, I had thought that he was still dealing with the aftermath of his first orgasm while he seemed to be thirsting for the next one already. In that respect, we were a perfect match.  
I took a deep breath and cupped his balls. On the one hand, it was good that he still didn’t realize that I was in complete control of the situation; on the other hand he was just being a nuisance, spoiling my fun. But I could work with that.

“_You_ won’t let _me_ come at all?”

I clenched a fist, digging my nails into that tight skin, making him cry out in pain.

“I don’t think so,” I added and loosened my grip.

I started to like this. It had started out as an expedition, conquering virgin territory, literally, but I liked what I saw and even more what I felt. All those years, I had been so focused on being a good man, serving the poor and victims of this city, but who’d serve me? I had reached my limits. I needed a hobby, a kind of balance. I had expected to find it in everything but that. He was a blessing. As much as he had mistreated me one week ago, it would never have come to this discovery if he had not chosen to act the sadistic asshole.  
And now it was my turn.

Grinning wickedly, I let go of his balls and reached for his throat. He opened his mouth but no sound would leave him. He knew by now that it would only turn me on. Silently, he fought for air until I squeezed even more tightly. His arms jerked and he tried to free them, but it still was no use. He had to stand whatever I gave him. 

When I thought that it was enough I let go and he fell into a fit of coughing. I seized that chance and pushed my dick in. He almost pressed me out again with his coughing, but I was too hard for that already again so I stayed where I was, waiting for him to calm down and acknowledge the fact that I could come whenever I wanted to and that _he_ would come whenever _I_ wanted him to.

When he stopped wheezing I moved again, fucking him hard. I knew that he was close to his limits. And I wanted to go beyond them.  
When I felt myself being close to orgasm I removed the ring and gave his dick a few strokes to motivate him. Helplessly, he came, unable to control it in any way. The cum hit his face and I came as well. I kept penetrating him until I felt that sensation dwindling, then I stopped. I sank down and my dick slid from his ass. Just a few moments to recover.

When I checked on him I found him devastated. His hair stuck to his face, sweat ran down his chest and the look in his eyes worried me a little. It was then when I asked myself whether I just served to push him deeper down into sickness, playing the same game. Maybe he needed someone understanding, someone tender who would put up with his antics without any desire for revenge. But tonight, I didn’t want to be that someone.  
Panting hard, I got up from the bed to get me a drink. He’d need a while to recover anyway.

Again, I spent some minutes leaning against the wall, enjoying my drink while watching him desperately trying to regain some strength.  
That sight was purely erotic. Covered in sweat, cheeks flushed from sex, tied to the bed. His ass was leaking my cum by now and he could not hide it. With a lecherous smile, I delighted in his body, already planning the next round.

I gave him two more minutes, then I took another pill from a drawer. When I joined him on the bed again he was eyeing me suspiciously. I showed it to him and he gave me an angry look.

“No way.”

I grinned for a few moments, then my hand caught his jaw and I squeezed until he had to open his mouth. I dropped it and added water, then I closed his mouth and additionally held his nose until he finally swallowed.  
When I was sure that it had reached his stomach I hit his solar plexus hard enough to knock him out for the next 10 minutes. It had come as a surprise and his shocked expression amused me; I couldn’t hold back the smile. I didn’t need his babbling complaints now.  
I left him behind and went to the cupboard again. I was curious about that. I looked through the stuff and found what I was looking for. Just until his would kick in.

I lit it and sat down on the bed next to him. He was still trying to overcome the effects of my blow.  
With relish, I inhaled. That would make up for every single second one week ago. Calmly, I smoked it, watching him struggling for breath and consciousness next to me. When it was finished I got up, stubbed it out and searched for the whiskey. Ten minutes and two shots later, I turned around again to face him.  
I would have come immediately. 

Bathed in sweat, a man with his ass exposed in the most humiliating way, his hands tied to the bed, silenced by discomfort, awaited me.  
It was incredible. Struck with awe, I sat down in front of him and eyed him. A few hours ago I would not have believed that once, I’d be about to use the words “sacred” and “fuckable” in the same sentence as his name. He stirred my blood and for a moment, I was desperate, knowing that I’d never be able to satisfy that need.  
But I could try.

I sat down on the bed and placed my head between his legs so I could lick his ass. His reaction was promising; his toes twitched and he gasped. It was the most beautiful thing in the world right then to touch him so intimately. Playfully, I pushed my tongue through the ring of muscles and licked the inside of his ass. The pleasure made him arch up. When I finally found his nipple I lightly squeezed it while I fondled his balls with my other hand. It was too much for him. All I heard was just a line of gasps until he switched to holding his breath.

I kept teasing him for another minute, then I climbed the bed and before he realized what was happening my dick was buried in his ass again. And this time, I fucked him senseless. At first, he still moaned but when my thrusts became harder he tried to hold his breath again to deal with the pain. I needed that now. A suffering man under me and me in power. I buried my fingers in his ass cheeks and held them so I could fuck him more brutally. 

This time, I became aware of my balls slapping his ass and I moaned; everything, just _everything_ about that being so new and thus so appealing to me. Until now, I had only been having women who never would have allowed me to do them from behind. But it felt marvellous. I had been a fool to suppress that for so long when I could have enjoyed it already.

His moans reminded me that I had to tend to him too so I let go and started pumping his dick while my dance turned into a slow and merciful swaying to and fro.  
I could feel that he was exhausted and tired but that he didn’t stand a chance against his drug-enhanced needs either. Silently, he gave in and his dick grew again. My swaying and pumping became more aggressive and he started moaning. Gradually, I sped up until it peaked.

Desperate gasps accompanied my orgasm and intensified it. It was the first time since years that I had the feeling that I could let go completely. A whiff of that first time was in my brain and I smiled and kept rocking forth and back until the bliss turned into bodily satisfaction. 

Panting, I towered over him, a quivering ball of flesh and bones.  
I had made him come for the third time now. And I had another time in mind. With shaky legs I got up from the bed and picked up the whip.

“Underwhelming,” I panted and approached him.

He looked away, trying to make himself disappear, but it didn’t work. I still could see him.

“Your choice: Your feet or your balls.”

I could barely keep myself up on my legs but I couldn’t let him notice. Casually, I leaned against the wall and waited for his answer, thus.  
I almost _heard_ him swallowing. I couldn’t tell whether he still took that as something exciting or whether he would rather have taken a good warm bath right now. His face didn’t let me conclude anything. Anyhow, by now, he must have realized that he was not in control anymore and that he was stuck right in the middle of a vengeance trip. I wanted to make him feel what I had felt. 

“Fuck you,” he breathed, unable to raise his voice.

It told me that he was at his limits, mentally and physically. 

“What?”

“If you don’t untie me _right_ now, you sick, perverted-“

“Alright, balls.”

With a grin I knelt down on the bed and had a look at the object of choice. It was going to be a feast. With the ball stretcher keeping them in position, it would be easy for me, even in my state of exhaustion.

“No! You fucking -“

“One”

Lightly, I hit them with the crop to test his pain threshold. He jerked, but it had served to silence him now.

“Two”

A pleasurable sound and he gasped for air.  
A little more.

“Three”

When the whip hit the skin I flinched, almost feeling what he was feeling. He found himself out of breath at that stroke.

“Four”

I quickly added the next ones.

“Five”  
“Six”

I stopped.  
His fitful breathing was a sign of utmost bodily distress. If it had been possible I would have said that he was looking even paler than usually; his lips were shaking and his eyes gazing into nothingness while he desperately tried to catch his breath.  
Four more to go. I was hard.

“Seven,” I breathed.

The skin tore.  
Such a mighty man, laughing at me and the world and such a tiny spot to topple him.  
Blood seeped from the cut. I was nuts about that sight. I considered it highly aesthetic, the dark liquid on that white skin. Mesmerized, I watched it soiling the sheets until his wheezing pulled me back to our session. Maybe it was too much.

“I’ll spare you the rest for now,” I said with a certain threat in my voice and put the flogger away, then I freed him from the cuffs and ties.  
His legs fell down on the sheets and he curled up, his hands protectively placed around his balls. His back was another sight which almost sent me into orgasm. I just couldn’t get enough today; all those bottled-up emotions and needs, heartlessly mutilated until now to silence them, finally seemed to break through and I couldn’t stop anymore.

I traced down his spine, moving my fingers over weals and dried blood. _I_ had done that. That demonstration of power still echoed in my head; I would feed on that feeling for the next months, or years even. People expected me to be an honourable man who knew the ins and outs of cultivated conversation and how to use a 20 pieces cover in a restaurant, but tonight, I renounced the artificialness of high society and catered for my own needs. His behaviour justified it, I didn’t need to feel bad about going hog wild, thus. He had many skeletons in his closet and finally, I had one too. Who cared.  
I put my hand on his shoulder to feel him. His skin was cold.  
He was liberating me. 

After some more moments of contemplation I got up from the bed, considering bringing it to an end for now; otherwise I might have accidentally killed him. I went around the bed to face him. 

“Ready for another round?” I asked him with a sheepish smirk.

Just a face contorted with pain. He didn’t reply anything. He never was short of words and that just told me that he was done for tonight.  
But I wasn’t.

“Get up,” I commanded. 

Nothing moved.

“Get up!” I yelled at him and he flinched. However, he didn’t do more than that. Angrily, I moved over to him and pulled him up just to press him against the wall. Any attempt to stand on his own feet failed so I had to keep him up. He was panting hard; sweat ran down his face and his eyes were unfocused. I lifted his leg to place it on my shoulder so I could access his ass. Whenever I touched him he winced. The ecstasy was working on him.

I took my dick in my hand to guide it and when I had found the opening I forcefully pushed it in. His ass was stretched by now, but he whimpered though. Although it wasn’t the first time I was kissing his ass it still felt as amazing as the first time, just that he didn’t share my joy.  
I took his chin and made him look at me. It seemed like he had given up; whatever I would do he would stand it. There was magic in his look. So lost, so begging, so longing.

For a moment, I looked him straight in the eye.

“Giddyup,” I whispered into his ear then and started fucking him again. Just a quickly fading moan was all he gave before his ass hit the wall, over and over again. He tried to push me away with his hands, but he was so weak by now that I didn’t even need to take care of them.  
When I looked up for a moment, leaving the intriguing sight of my penis disappearing in his ass, I caught a glimpse of his eyes.  
They were wide with terror, filled with pain and despair. With a pained expression, he stood me, unable to stand up against it anymore. My passion grew rampant, that feeling took over and replaced all doubt, compassion and empathy and I fucked him even harder, making him scream with pain.

And these screams made me come. Nothing so sweet, nothing so intimate and nothing so personal as that. I gasped and tightened my grip around his body; I needed him close now, as close as possible.  
And then, it exploded inside me. A passion so dark that I could not stand it made me helpless. An urge, a kind of tension I had not experienced before made me face despair. Desperately, I bit into his neck. He jerked and set up a cry, his muscles tensing.  
And then, he came as well. It wasn’t much, but still.

Panting hard, I held him through his orgasm until his body grew even heavier. My dick was still hard enough to stay in his ass and I shifted the weight in my arms so it wouldn’t slide from it. Pure satisfaction filled my body up, but my mind wasn’t satisfied yet. Smirking, I let the urine flow. My glans had suffered from the many fucks as well and so it stung, but other than that, I felt gloriously satisfied. The warmth in his ass intensified. What a feeling.  
Hitting on a sudden idea, I kept a bit of urine and released him. Silently, his body sank to the floor while he tried to get hold of my arm in vain.

Nothing moved and all I could hear was his struggling to catch his breath. I nudged his ass cheek with my toes.

“Ready for another round?”

Smirking, I watched him for another moment before I turned around and went to his heap of clothes. There, I got rid of the rest of my urine, smiling widely at the thought of him going home with rags reeking of piss. One week ago, I had had to leave our meeting covered in semen, now he should leave the same way.

Radiant with happiness, I got dressed, keeping my eyes glued to him. He had not moved at all. Just when I thought about lifting him up and putting him on the bed it happened anyway. Piss trickled from his ass, mingling with blood.  
I felt liberated.

“Love you,” I sang into his direction and then left the scene. I closed the door behind me and faced the stairs. My knees gave way in such an uncomfortable way that I had to support myself. Luckily, there was a railing. When I had arrived downstairs I dragged my heavy body to the bar area where I fell into a chair. I had done my best to appear as fit in his presence, but the three hours marathon was taking its toll on me as well. I ran my fingers through my hair, my hand shaking terribly. 

I had never felt so spent in my life yet. There was that kind of exhaustion after fights and long nights, but this was different. A very agreeably kind of heaviness.  
Moving some wet strands between my fingers, I thought of him. He was used to that kind of stuff, I was sure. I took a deep breath and recalled the feeling of being inside his ass. I hoped it had not been the first and last time.

Someone asked me what I wanted to drink.

“Whisky,” I replied.

“Bring me a bottle.”

“Of course, Sir.”

Upstairs, in a red room with a black bed, a body moved. Slowly, he reached behind for his ass and stuck two shaking fingers inside. When he had regained the strength to continue, he removed them and clumsily pushed them through his lips.  
For a moment, he closed his eyes.  
Sweet.  
Bitter.  
Sour.  
Salty.  
There was everything in it.

With a growing urge to throw up, he swallowed and his hand fell down.  
There was everything in it. And he wouldn’t want to miss any of it. Not one single bit.  
Relationships were nothing he was experienced at, but he felt that that was special. He had managed to elicit a reaction he never would have figured on. 

Almost passing out with pain, his mind clung to one thing. Aching for the person who had just left him, humiliated, raped and sore. Aching so badly for him despite his body breaking apart. Just another round. To have him close. He wouldn’t even mind the pain.  
His back had started bleeding again.  
At least, he would have the marks.

________


	3. Narcissism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wouldn't be the Joker if he left it at that night. His return, however, does not go to plan at all since Bruce Wayne won't cave in to his accusations. Their discussion escalates, paving the way for a new experience.

**Part 3: Narcissism**

DSM 5 criteria:  
1\. A grandiose sense of self-importance  
2\. Preoccupation with fantasies of unlimited success, power, brilliance, beauty, or ideal love  
3\. Belief that one is special and can only be understood by or associate with special people or institution  
4\. A need for excessive admiration  
5\. A sense of entitlement (to special treatment)  
6\. Exploitation of others  
7\. A lack of empathy  
8\. Envy of others or the belief that one is the object of envy  
9\. Arrogant, haughty behaviour or attitudes

Two days later, I came home from a meeting and decided that it was time for the weekend. I got out of my shoes and went straight to the living room to pour myself a drink.  
One minute later, the front door was opened and slammed shut and while it was still echoing down the hallway a new sound mixed with it. Plated soles, whose owner seemed to be in a hurry. Or furious. Considering the last few days and the fact that no one had phoned me up during the last hour and that Alfred was two hours away from here and that I had _not_ ordered pizza like last time it could only be one person.  
A histrionic personality with a penchant for theatrics.

I turned around with the drink in my hand and waited for him to show up. I just couldn’t wipe that knowing smile off my face, as much as I tried. He was going to try to regain his pride now which he thought he had lost during our second night. I did not need to worry about a boring evening anymore.  
Finally, he turned around the corner and I pursed my lips for a moment, keeping myself from a full face smile at seeing his anger. When he spotted me he started his show.

“Don’t you think you can use me like that!!!” he yelled, coming closer and stopping six meters in front of me, huffing.

“Pardon?”

“Fuck your Pardon! You know what I’m talking about!” he kept yelling and pointed at me.

He almost seemed sexy in his rage. He _was_ sexy in his rage. Immediately, I had to think of what I had done with his body two days ago. Certainly, the marks were still on his back.

“The Lilly? Oh don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it,” I said casually and sipped my wine.

For a moment, he was dumbfounded. I knew what he was thinking. Which options were left to choose from to save his neck. I had not left many for him with that. With a faint smile, I waited for his response, knowing that it could only be off-topic. 

“You’re just another one of those chauvinist assholes!” 

Not the best choice. It told me a lot about him; things which he never would have revealed if I had asked him about them. I felt that there was an old, scarred wound. I had not been the first one mistreating him, but that was no surprise to me, considering his broken mind. What else could break a man like that if not violence. However, I chose not to rub salt into it and remain silent until he would come up with the next accusation.

“You’re not worth it,” he said scornfully, bending his head and looking at me from below.

Like a tiger who was forced into a corner, afraid, unable to attack, yet baring his teeth and hissing spittle and bile. He expected me to say something to save _my_ neck now.  
But I was much more amused by the thought of forcing him to leave. Since the first moment when I had seen him entering I had been thinking about making him leave, just to infuriate him. I was sure that he wanted everything but to leave.

“Yeah? Fine then, you know where the door is.”

With that, I turned around and worked on the decanter, smirking. For a few moments, I didn’t hear anything until I perceived a familiar sound. My smirk disappeared. That sound together with him didn’t mean well. I froze and waited for some more moments until I turned around. Just then, he started moving, approaching me. I cast a glance at the gun, then at his eyes. I had to admit that I couldn’t read him and I had no idea what would happen during the next 20 minutes. I had thought that I was in control of everything, having him lamenting his fate with a red head, but I had not taken his worst trait into consideration. Mood swings were a matter of seconds with him. He would never cease to surprise me. An exciting relationship. If I was still alive tomorrow.

Wordlessly, he came closer until there was nothing but a whiff of air between us. His gun pressed against my ribcage, his eyes locking mine. Always, whenever I had a gun pointed at me I felt weird, a strange mix between an erotic kind of fear and helplessness. Usually, the helplessness choked that other feeling. I licked my lips and waited for his demands. If there were any.

With his eyes glued to mine, he lowered the gun, moving the metal down rib by rib, applying so much pressure that it hurt. Existential fear took over and I shifted my weight. It wandered down my stomach; nervously, I checked its position and then I fixed him again. My nerves were raw. He looked like being capable of everything right now. Calmly, but with so much determination that I was sure that I’d get hurt in the course of the evening, he let it move over a button of my shirt and I knew that he found the satisfaction he was looking for.

It moved under my navel and further down until a shot broke the silence. At first, I thought he had missed me and fired a shot at the cupboard, but then caustic pain set in and I knew that he had not. Confused, I looked down and found myself bleeding from my crotch. It wasn’t my testicles nor my penis; it was just a few centimetres above it to the right. As far as I knew, it was the seminal duct.

His expression didn’t change at all; without any further word or look at me he turned around to leave. Now it was me who felt hurt. I could not accept that. I had provoked him, true, but I could not condone that. Without me noticing, I had slipped. I couldn’t tell for how long it had been happening already, but I had to admit that I was spiralling downwards, finding myself having my mind in the gutter and engaging in conduct that I usually would condemn if someone else was behaving like that. I wondered whether it was his influence, whether bad company could twist me as easily as that. Yet, at the same time, it felt so good to not be forced to hold back what had always been there anyway.  
Admitted.

With one hand pressed against the wound, I turned to grab the wine glass and threw it with as much force as possible. As planned, it hit the back of his head. He staggered, tried to keep himself up by clutching at the backrest of the couch and finally slumped down.  
Breathing hard, I waited for another moment since I wasn’t sure whether I had hit him hard enough. 

But I had. He remained lying on the floor, motionless. Blood dyed his hair red. For a moment, I stood there in silence, catching up with the events of the last minute until the pain reminded me of the necessity to take action. Sighing, I went to my bureau and called my doctor. Then I went back to the living room and heaved his body on the couch. Ten minutes later, the doctor came and fixed me. He didn’t ask. He never did. He told me to take care and neither engage in sex nor any other kind of heavy physical activity for the next seven days. Or four, if he was talking to Batman.

“Otherwise?

“Otherwise it might rip. I wouldn’t recommend that.”

When he was gone I went to the medical room and got me a sedative. I was so tired from surgery that I had to get some sleep and I didn’t want him to wake up in the middle of the night to find out that he was the captain of Wayne Manor with me sleeping in my bed for the next 10 hours. And I didn’t want to spoil myself the fun of another encounter either. Things would get even more interesting then. So after I had dealt him the shot I went to bed. Naked, I lay down, concentrating on the fluffy feeling of the duvet. The wound still hurt terribly.

There was a reason why he had shot me there; I was torn between fascination and anger. He was such a bastard. It was an attack at my virility to silence me after our last meeting. A clever attempt at cutting me down to size. He was such a temperamental man. A psychopath. Or just temperamental. And though, I knew that there was something between us which I had never experienced with anyone else yet. A certain kind of spice. I recalled his face when he had entered. He had been livid and he had come with a loaded gun. He had planned that attack and it had been the measure to restore order. To his mind.

Then I remembered that he was lying on my sofa.  
I’d probably never get a better chance to do that than now. But I was so tired. I sighed and got up though, my mind running riot at that thought.  
He was still lying there like before. I knew that he would never hear me but though, I tried to be as silent as possible. For a minute, I just stood there, looking at him. His hair was draped over his face, his eyes closed, his mouth a little open.

Completely helpless.

Laboriously, I bent down to kiss him. His lips didn’t move at all, no resistance, no response. I became a little more courageous then and touched his crotch. I took a deep breath and unbuttoned his pants. The zip was open. Black cotton under it. I felt so excited that I forgot the pain and sat down next to him. With a shaky hand, I pushed the fabric of the pants aside and put my hand on his genitals. It fit perfectly.

It wasn’t like I had not touched his jewels before, but having him in that exposed position was another thing. I had all the time in the world and didn’t need to worry about him thinking badly of me. It was just me and half of him. Tentatively, I squeezed his dick. No reaction.  
While I thought about going down on him he sighed. I clenched my teeth and looked at him, but it was nothing.  
He would never know.

I sniffed, swallowed, pressed my left hand against the wound and pulled his pants and underpants down. Silky cotton. He was such a pretentious man. Simply that turned me on already. I took his limp dick in my hand, bent down, groaned with pain to do my wound justice and then took him in my mouth. Squishy, but fresh. I couldn’t but snort with amusement, thinking of him showering before he had come to my house. Just in case, you know. Wherever you’d end up, make sure that your dick is clean. What a showman. He might have learned something from last time indeed.

I let go and unbuttoned his shirt, needing to see more of him. His chest was eye candy for me: The contrary of my six-pack; lean and slim. I cast a glance at his face; his eyes were still closed. I brushed over his chest, then put my hand on his heart to feel it. I watched his ribcage going up and down while his heart was beating in a slow and steady rhythm. I wondered whether he would approve of that. But exactly that was the thrill of it.

Desperately fighting my tiredness again, I decided to put an end to it and I bent down to suck him off finally. And if I collapsed on top of him, I would do that.  
Within a minute, his dick was hard and I drew back to look at him. Eyes still closed. I kept my eyes on him and gripped his dick. I loved feeling that hardness in my hand; it made me smile. I gave it a few strokes until he came. It was one of the most erotic happenings I had ever witnessed, having an unconscious man coming.  
Completely at my mercy.

Breathing hard, I cleaned my hand with my shirt and dressed him again like nothing had ever happened. Then I kissed him another time, as gently as I never have dared to kiss anyone yet. I couldn’t give my feelings away that easily, I knew about that and often,  
I got angry at myself for that. But I didn’t want them to see my vulnerable side and I felt vulnerable when I did what I liked. I was more romantic than the gayest fag and I was afraid of showing that side to others since I felt like they could use it against me. It had already happened to me that women had done exactly that or that they had laughed at me for suggestions or gestures.

And him.  
I frowned.  
Never in my fucking life would I believe for just one moment that he’d not make fun of me for that. But I was used to hiding it. Maybe I’d sedate him more often. And then I would put a headband on his head with flowers, caress his fingers, kiss his chest, wind his pubic hair round my fingers, bring him red wool socks for his feet to keep warm...  
I got up and went to bed.  
With a boner.  
And I couldn’t do shit about it.

____________

A dull pain woke me up. It was in the back of my head, throbbing. The next thing I became aware of was that my eyes were closed, so I opened them, tentatively.  
A wooden ceiling. Fire, next to me. Bruce Wayne in front of me. When I noticed him I jerked, adrenaline flushing my foggy brain to prepare for the escape. When I realized that he was wearing a shirt and jeans I relaxed. I wasn’t fully conscious yet, but all that analyzing and reasoning happened without me needing to do anything. Casually, I settled down again, trying to keep face. The pain grew worse.

“What happened,” I asked with a husky voice. I tried to clear my throat but it didn’t help.

The remnants of a kind of far away anger seeped into my head, but I was too busy keeping my eyes open than to pay attention to that. I was curious what he would make of it and it would give me some time to come up with a plan. Blinking, I looked at him, silently asking him again. He had crossed his legs and was looking at me with a mix of amusement and respect which angered me.

“You came to my house.”

I sniffed and sat up, feeling for the hole in my head. Dried blood. I could have suffered from a brain concussion and that asshole was sitting there with a cheerful heart. I cleared my throat again and shoved all that aside, focusing on my newly formed plan.

“Why,” I asked him dryly just to make him believe that I wasn’t having any clue at all. I was the Joker, you can take that from me. Spontaneous amnesia.

“You wanted to ask me out.”

For a moment, my expression slipped, but I clenched my teeth instead which just gave me another round of terrible pain. That beat everything. As if I would have taken that humiliation just to ask him out again two days later. I couldn’t believe it.  
With my head now spinning, I leaned back and pinched the brick of my nose to push the anger to a corner of my mind since it didn’t help and would only serve to harm me in the end.  
That was interesting. I failed to see what kind of plan he was pursuing, but I was sure that he had one, telling me that. I wanted to see how much of a plan he was having actually.

“Did I say where to?”

“No.”

Fuck.  
So what next? He wanted me to believe that I had asked him out. Did he offer me something? I couldn’t think straight yet, the pain distracting me too much. However, I knew that it was my turn. He was flattering me. Although I didn’t know why.  
I just accepted it and thought about what to do now. The world was my oyster. I tried to listen to my needs, identify my mood through the pain and conclude what to do. I didn’t feel like going out at all.

“I know a nice place. I’m having a bit of a headache, but I should be fine.”

“Well then, let’s go,” he said and got up. He left the room and I was speechless. I didn’t understand him. Not anymore. I had thought that I knew him, the kind soul of the city, relentlessly tender and considerate and suddenly, he revealed a side of him which served to make me feel afraid, almost. He was able to turn into the most hateable, sadistic opportunist I had ever met. Hateable, sadistic and so attractive that I had to accept that. We were talking the same language and it was a strange feeling. I felt somewhat understood in my twisted desires. And I was almost ready to acknowledge that we were on the same wavelength.

What if I tried to keep it that way? I had never cared, never made an effort to establish or even keep any relationship before since I knew that sooner or later, I’d always find out that the other wasn’t worth it, not sharing my beliefs, likes or something else essential.  
I touched the wound on the back of my head again and sighed. It felt too good than to let it pass by. I _had_ to make an effort, finally. 

I got up as well and followed him to our shoes. Secretly, I watched him and I saw that he was having difficulties putting that one shoe on. After we had put on our jackets I turned to face him and pretended to accidentally nudge his leg. As expected, he winced.

“Is something wrong?”

“What?”

“Your leg...”

That familiar feeling took over. Glee. I could live on it; I didn’t need food nor water nor sleep; I could completely live on glee. But I had to hide it now. On purpose, our communication was carried out on a basis of distance and respect; neither did he let me feel any of that from that night when he had raped me nor did I let him feel any of that night when I had pissed on him. It was just the kind of atmosphere which you would expect when two businessmen were going out for a business dinner. I appreciated that since I didn’t want to be reminded of that night at all now. I was past that.

“Yeah, just a torn muscle, nothing serious.”

“I think we should take a taxi then, no?”

“I guess so,” he replied with a suppressed voice and disappeared to call us a taxi.

Ten minutes later, we were sitting in the back of a high class taxi. I knew that he would know someone who was trustworthy and wouldn’t boast of having had the Joker and Bruce Wayne in the same cab without them fighting each other. I wondered whether that thought had come to his mind as well or whether it was just my grandiosity.  
During the drive, I looked out of the window, ignoring him, thinking. I would show him about going out, yes, I would. 

The car finally stopped in front of an old building. I entered first with him following. It was obvious that it wasn’t a restaurant nor a disco but he didn’t ask. I opened a door on the first floor and entered. A familiar kind of scent made me feel at home. He entered as well and closed the door behind him. Curiosity was in his eyes when he scanned the room.

“How do you like it,” I asked him, trying to sound as confidently as possible.

“Well, I can only tell after I’ve seen the menu,” he replied.

The tone of his voice made me understand that he was ready to play along.

“Just a minute.”

I went to the kitchen and undressed. The other room where he was standing was just a bedroom, living room, library and atelier at the same time so the only room left for me to hide from him was the kitchen. Or the bathroom.  
I hurried to get out of my clothes, then I checked my dick and balls. They were to my full satisfaction; just that my balls were still black and blue from the ball stretcher and flogging. But that was his fault. 

I would give him a prime performance. I knew that he thought that I was just a campy egocentric so I would give him everything but that. It was a challenge for me and I was up for it. As long as I could amaze him I was up for it. Since, ultimately, it was just a kick for my ego and I wasn’t too ashamed to admit that. After all, I didn’t love him for his sake; I loved him because I felt good that way.  
Without putting on any airs, I entered the multi-purpose room and presented myself to him.

I could see the surprise in his eyes. He had not expected that. However, he could not keep himself from looking down and up my body, once I offered that sight to him so freely.  
It was a good feeling, having another person approving of my body. Not just approving, even getting hard at seeing it. Smirking, I held still while his eyes touched every single inch of my skin.

Everywhere.  
He wasn’t too ashamed to look at the bruises either or to inspect my nipples from the distance. And I wouldn’t make fun of him. Once I had him so close I would not spoil this. 

“I like it,” he finally said, his eyes having gotten stuck at my thighs.

“Yeah?” I replied temptingly and licked my lips, trying to give him a promise of what was to come if he was ready for that too.

“Yeah,” he replied and got rid of his jacket. While he searched for a place to drop it I embraced him from behind to pull the shirt over his face. Within a few moments, he was naked and I couldn’t resist the temptation to look at his dick.  
Semi-hard.  
Above it, a bit to the right, there was a huge patch. Smirking, I pushed him towards the bed and made him lie down with me on top. I bent my head and looked at the wound again, longer, so that he would notice.

“Looks like a horribly torn muscle.”

I looked at him again, showing him that I expected a reply. He thought hard for a moment, then he came up with that:

“Yeah, I did something stupid and that took its toll.”

“So you learned something from it?” I said, seizing the opportunity.

“Yeah.”

I knew that he did it on purpose and though, it didn’t fail to have the desired effect on me. He had admitted his mistake. He couldn’t make that night unhappen, but he had realized that it had been wrong. His confession helped me to feel less insecure. As humiliated I had felt, as emotionally hurt as I had felt - I shed it at those words. Since after all, he could have chosen to say something else too. It was his way of apologizing.

Following a sudden notion, I kissed him. It took him a moment but then, he kissed back, as gently as I. However, right in the middle of that kiss, he froze. He stared at me with wide eyes and I drew back, confused at his silent objection. Insecurity and nervousness made me look like a fool, probably, but I could not help it. I had thought that he’d like that. I had been sure that he was a romantic. Nothing of his public life hinted at that, but I could read between the lines. That was how I detected people’s weaknesses, usually. 

This time, I had chosen to use that ability for the benefit of him, but I already doubted having succeeded. Just when I considered getting up and dressed to not put him off completely he reached for my face and pulled me back into our kiss. Whatever had been going on in that complicated head of his, it had vanished and he was kissing me like a gentleman, tenderly and lovingly. Careful not to hurt him, I caressed his lips with mine until I couldn’t hold back anymore and searched for his tongue.

When I had found it we met again, dancing with closed eyes. My hands snuck up his body and suddenly, my body moved on its own, finding its way without me needing to think about anything. My hands were on his chest and stomach, exploring them while my mind was in his eyes. The excitement in them made me feel confident again and I kissed him as teasingly as I could.  
Tonight, I would show him what I was capable of; that I wasn’t just a heartless ego-tripper but that I could be so much more, capable of pleasing and attending to the needs of someone else as well. I couldn’t deny my macho thoughts which accompanied that mood, but I would please him as much as he was pleasing me with his approval.

Still kissing him, I grabbed his dick and he jerked. I gave it a light squeeze to test his hardness, then I moved my fingers over his balls to see whether he was into that as well. A groan into my mouth told me that I was on the right track. Doughtily, I squeezed them and he lifted his pelvis which made him groan in pain. I just grew harder at that. As much as I was focused on pleasing him, I couldn’t but enjoy that familiar game of hurting him.

Smiling broadly, I moved down and took his balls into my mouth. They were cold, but I would warm them. Those were the balls of Bruce Wayne. Just the thought turned me on. I sucked them while I played around with his dick, pulling back the prepuce, letting it slide over his glans again, rubbing it and hiding it again. He held still, enjoying that with closed eyes, twitching and making these little sounds of pleasure which made it hard for me to not reach for my own dick and pump it hard.

When I felt that it was about time for him I reached for a drawer to my right and took something out. While I still sucked his balls I put a cock ring on his dick to make it easier for him. I wanted to be a gentleman tonight; I wanted him to see how good I was in bed.  
He shot me a glance, asking me what I was up to but when I pulled back the glans and touched the tip of it with my tongue he leaned back again and gave me another one of those sounds.

I was going to do that. Never had I given anyone head before and I had no clue how to do that right, but I would give my best, my very best. Imagining what would turn _me_ on helped me, finally.

I licked his glans first, then let my tongue slide down his dick to this balls and up again. Now I shot him a quick, promising glance and I found that he was watching me, panting, helplessly waiting for more action.  
I closed my lips around the tip and took him in until I felt the urge to vomit. I lifted my head a bit to catch my breath and then I just buried it inside my throat again, gagging, this time. At the same time, I felt him pulling at my hair and I moved back again to look at him.

Eyes, drunken with lust. His expression spurred me on so much that I bent down and took him in wholly again, ignoring my gag reflex as much as I could. I managed to take him in a few times until the warning turned into reality and I turned to the side to retch.  
Breathing hard, with tears in my eyes, I wiped my mouth when I was done and bent down again, just about to continue when he pulled my head up.

“You don’t need to,” he whispered, his eyes spilling love.

“But I like it,” I replied, squeezing my hard-on to demonstrate him how much.

He let go of my hair and I kissed his tip, lightly moving my tongue around, playing with the smooth surface of his glans. Everything about him turned me on, even if it made me throw up. I gave it one last kiss, then I wiped my mouth and sat up to kiss him.

Again, I reached for the drawer to my left and took something out while he was busy sorting our lips out. He didn’t notice any of that, which just boosted my ego as a competent lover. I opened the tube and got a bit of it on my fingers. My left hand was on his chest, playing with his nipple when two fingers pushed through his anus. He gasped into my mouth, but I silenced him with another kiss. I kept my fingers still for some moments, then I moved them back and forth. He clenched his ass and I stopped.

I looked at him, silently asking him whether he was alright, but he just looked back at me for a moment and closed his eyes again. I understood that I were to continue and that he just wasn’t used to it. I went back to kissing him and lightly bit his tongue to distract him while I spread my fingers to stretch him. His hands were on my back now, moving over the scars of our session; lightly, careful not to hurt me, but lovingly. When they moved over my flanks I kissed him harder, forgetting that my fingers were still inside him and supposed to prepare him.

I froze in my kiss and concentrated on his touch, spellbound by that feeling of getting caressed. Caressed by someone whom I could trust. One of his hands grabbed my ass while the other grabbed my dick and I moaned into _his_ mouth now. It was him now who kissed me and finally reminded me of my position tonight; I was the one on top. Playfully biting his lip, I responded and moved my fingers in his ass around. He touched my dick just lightly, yet, not lightly enough. I drew back from his mouth and looked down. Pre-cum. I just couldn’t hold back anymore.

Licking my lips, I went back to kissing him and removed the two fingers just to grip my dick and touch his anus with the tip. His hands left my love spots immediately and pushed me back so that our mouths parted. I gave him a quizzical look and tried to understand what I had done wrong, hoping that he would just tell me. However, he didn’t quite know himself; he looked lost all of a sudden.

And then, it just occurred to me that it might possibly, highly possibly be his first time. He had fucked me, abused me, raped me, but he had never had an assfuck yet. The sweetness of that made me smile broadly. He, in turn just seemed to be even more confused at that.  
I was going to make it perfect for him. Still smiling, I removed his hands from my body and kissed him again, then whispered into his ear: “I’ll be careful, don’t worry.”

It felt like patronizing him and then again, it felt like I was trying to take care of him in the way someone like him just deserved it. He had no idea how pleasing it could be and I would turn it into a sublime experience. My ego exploded.

I gave him another kiss, then I sucked his nipple, lightly. At the same time, I removed the cock ring, which proved to be quite a hard task, and inserted my fingers into his ass again. I circled his nipple with my tongue and I was pleased to see that he was very sensitive there too. Although, he could have licked my fingernail now and I would have burst into uncontrolled moaning, so much for sensitive spots.  
With a shaking hand, I dropped the cock ring and got some more lube on my fingers to spread it on my dick, then I took it and placed it in front of his anus again, waiting for the right moment.

I took my fingers out and cupped his balls, still waiting patiently while sucking his other nipple. There was nothing he would have had to be afraid of. I knew how to give a good fuck.  
I squeezed his balls again and then closed my fingers around his dick to give it a few strokes, not too hard so he wouldn’t come yet. That drew a line of moans from him which almost made me come. Until then, I had thought that only an ass, a mouth or a pussy could make me spill my cum but now I knew that it was thoughts too.  
Thoughts of him.

When I felt that he was ready I bit his nipple and he tensed up. I seized the moment and pushed my glans in. When his back hit the mattress again he was panting hard, his eyes open, frozen. He didn’t dare to move.  
But I did.  
Slowly, I moved my pelvis. Another centimetre.  
I waited.

Every single sense of him focused on that now, I could see that. But that wasn’t what I wanted. I bent forward, took his face into my hands and kissed him again while I moved in for another centimetre. He bit down on my lip and I dug my nails into his cheeks, trying to withstand that overwhelming temptation to get rough with him. It was a typical moment when I’d lose it. I couldn’t allow my desire to wreak havoc now, otherwise it would just have turned into a night like the other two. 

However, when he dug his nails into my flanks I couldn’t chasten myself anymore and I kissed him hard, snorting against his nose and receiving a torn lip in return. I pushed my dick in wholly and I felt him moaning into my mouth. 

For a second, I remembered my plan. I drew back, hot and needy, but I had to get some distance between me and him now to focus on his needs again. He was looking at me, panting too, challenging and daring. The roughness had empowered him, that was what he was familiar with. And I too. But as much as I craved blood and pain, I forced myself to push it away and concentrate on the feeling of being inside him.

I straightened my back and moved. In and out, my eyes locked on him to not miss the slightest emotion. Right in the middle of my manoeuvre, he closed them and threw back his head. I took it as an invitation and sped up which now drew a moan from him. The sight drove me crazy; Bruce Wayne was squirming in front of me, openly showing me that he enjoyed it, his reason mush because I was just fucking him. 

I smirked and shoved it in again. I pushed and pulled for a few times until I bent down and embraced him, moving my arms under his back. I was sure that he was into touch and that he’d need some of that now. He let it happen and wound his arms around my back as well and locked like that, I fucked him, short but forceful shoves until I was about to come. Impatiently, I freed myself of his embrace, gripped his dick and started pumping it, but he quickly sat up and stopped me.

“I can’t,” he breathed, his voice rough from excitement and lust. His hand was on mine, it felt more intimate than my dick in his ass.

“What?” I replied, lost in pleasure and suffering from acute aenemia in my brain.

“That muscle I tore,” he explained and put his hand on the patch which covered the gunshot wound, “I can’t,” he concluded and looked at me.

I could see the craving in his eyes, the need to come and at the same time the despair, his reason telling him to quit it. Unsure about what to do I remained in that posture, staring back at him. For a moment, I felt angry at the thought of that all being my fault since I had had to shoot his spermatic cord just to prove a point. I took a deep breath and drew back, my dick reluctantly leaving the cosy cave. Anger and confusion mingled and I couldn’t come up with a practical idea to save the situation. 

Torn between the wish to please him, which meant refraining from fucking him and at best, masturbating to his hard dick, and pleasing myself which would have meant to fuck him _and_ myself into orgasm, I sat back on my heels and tried to imagine both situations. In the end, there was only one reasonable one left.

“It will work out, don’t worry,” I said and reinserted my dick.

“Wai-“

He went silent. Clenching the sheets, he closed his eyes and tried to ignore the bliss in order to think straight. Before he could decide that it was better to postpone that thing I started fucking him again which silenced him for good. Losing to his most primitive drive, he let himself fall back and wait for orgasm.  
I, in turn, did my best to give him the most pleasurable and painful orgasm he had ever had so I grinded my crotch against his ass, moving it in circles and adding more personality to it than I had ever dared. 

He was worth it.  
His look told me that he had left this world and was experiencing another reality. I was proud of that. His hand was still resting on the patch, following each move; I was sure that it hurt already. Smirking, I leaned back and left his ass. My secret weapon. Deprivation and granting.  
He lifted his head to check on me. When he noticed that I was doing that deliberately he smiled and closed his eyes.

A few seconds later I rewarded him for his trust with a deep thrust. His look didn’t change, but I knew that he was overwhelmed by the feeling. I repeated that for a few times and then started moving in the same rhythm as before when he had interrupted me.  
He started panting again and I was sure that he would come soon. As much as I needed to come too I decided to hold back and watch him since I was looking forward to that one. Panting hard from excitement and from containing myself I rode him, yet making sure that I still had some reserves.

When he squinted his eyes I knew that the time had come. With wide eyes and a one-sided smile I eagerly waited for the spectacle to take place.  
His hand clutched at the wound and a whimpering sound escaped his mouth before it turned into a loud yell. It sounded like fulfilment. Quickly, I placed my hand on top of his glans, just in time to catch his cum. He arched up into the air, his hair bearing his face. It was a beautiful moment. He looked so different when he was a slave to his lust.  
That sight made me come as well. I couldn’t resist that.

I came in his ass, still fucking him. My thighs ached and I was so short of air that I felt dizzy, but I kept moving until his moans ebbed away, then I let myself fall down on him, placing my head on his chest. I could hear his heart beating. It was a fast and steady rhythm, slower than mine. 

Every single bit of this experience was balm to my hurt pride. His heart was beating so fast because I had pushed him into ecstasy. His breath was coming in fits because he had enjoyed the feeling of me being inside of him. His eyes were closed because he was still indulging in the imagery of that shared orgasm which I had brought on. His hands were trembling because what I had given to him had been too much.  
Filled with indescribable bliss, I kissed his chest and abandoned myself to the post-orgasmic heaviness of body and mind. There was no better place where I could rest than this.

His hand fell down on my back. He was just as spent as I.  
Still breathing hard, I thought about our union. Like a bolt of lightning, fear struck me and I panicked. I couldn’t tell where it was coming from but it was unbearable and it made me fidgety. I propped myself up and was about to leave the embrace when a strong hand lay down on my shoulder to stop me.

Fear-driven, I tried to get away from him, but he kept me in place. I looked at him to ask for help since I myself didn’t know what was going on inside me. Something just made me long for distance.  
Calm but serious eyes tried to catch my attention. I spent several moments just looking into them until I finally relaxed, feeling that I was out of danger, whatever it had been. He looked at me like he knew me; like he knew about every single feeling and thought which currently was driving me mad.

Nervously, I looked away and I saw cum on his chest. I remembered then that he had come in my hand and I wanted to get up to clean it but just when I was on my knees he pulled me down. Unable to free myself from that grip I gave up with a sigh and settled for a long night.  
He was right, I should just lie down and stop thinking. I felt that I didn’t need to say something; we could just lie there in silence and enjoy the closeness of each other. If we could. If I could.

I wasn’t used to that. It was okay for me to hurt someone for my arousal and it was okay for me if someone else did that to me for the same reason, but it was not okay to skip that. I wasn’t used to all that emotional stuff and I wasn’t used to someone holding me.  
I wasn’t used to someone not giving a damn about being on top or not.  
I wasn’t used to love without dominance.

I made one last attempt at getting up but he pressed his hand against my shoulder and didn’t allow me to do a runner. He had taught me a lot about myself tonight and he wasn’t done yet.  
Snorting, I gave it up and snuggled up to his chest. It didn’t matter anyway.  
I closed my eyes, yet opened them again when I felt him moving. His other hand was pressing against the patch. Between his fingers, I saw red gauze bandage. 

It must have hurt, but he had continued. He could have gotten up and stopped it, but he had continued. For him, I had been worth it.  
The cum had dried on my hand by now. I put it on his. It was my way of showing compassion. Within a week he’d be alright again. I knew that he was a tough man, having survived various explosions and murder attempts and he would survive this one as well.

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes again, allowing my mind to drift off to wherever it needed to go. His skin was wet, but I didn’t mind. We shared something that hardly could be shared.  
Exhausted but happy, I drifted off into sleep although I didn’t want to fall asleep at all. I wanted to enjoy the feeling of my skin against his, my fingers between his.  
I could have listened to him breathing just for the rest of the year.

___________________

When I had somewhat gotten used to that pain I opened my eyes. The Joker was lying next to me. He wasn’t lying next to me, he was huddling up to me.  
Careful not to destroy the magic of that moment, I didn’t dare to move at all so I abandoned myself to my thoughts. It was a miracle. All that was a miracle. It was like someone mighty had decided that we would end up in this bed, this way or that way. In the end, it had been a mix of both, this _and_ that way. 

Mesmerized, I stared at the ceiling. It was his flat. Or one of those. He had invited me to visit him. I gave him great credit for trusting me enough to show me about his living place. Anyway, I couldn’t take anything of that for granted. He was the Joker, I had to remind myself of that.

I had to be very careful with him. It was true that we could communicate in our own, special way, but when it came down to that underlying love, I had to be very considerate and careful not to crush that delicate little plant. He was so full of fear, complexes and misbeliefs about himself that I would have a hard time making him understand that it all didn’t matter to me since I had decided to put up with it in favour for love. I knew it was there. I had felt it, I had seen it shining through. It was going to be a long way, but I accepted the challenge. 

It was an entirely new world that had opened up to me, after all. I knew that I could talk about everything to him, even if he seemed like the last man one could talk to when it was about personal things. I knew that I could ask him about everything, although he seemed to be a narcissist who only focused on his own needs. I felt that there was more about him. And I felt that he would only show it if I managed to make him feel safe. 

There was something beyond our pride-ridden fights for dominance. I had wanted to discover that world, I had started out exploring that side of mine and I wanted to keep acting it out.  
With him. He seemed to be the perfect partner for that, not minding a bruised body nor a temporarily bruised soul.  
But next to that, I wanted something else. Steadiness, honesty and trust. And maybe, I could start establishing that by playing rough. If that was the language he understood then I would talk in it as well until he would have learned to translate.

I looked at him. For a moment, I believed that he had fallen asleep. I listened for some sounds and his breathing told me that he had fallen asleep indeed.  
He was a complicated man.  
But so was I. I had seen the worst and the best of him and that was just good enough.  
Smiling, I turned my head again and closed my eyes too. I would take care of all that mess tomorrow. For tonight, I enjoyed his company. I reached for the lamp to my left and switched it off, moving away from him.

When I took him in my arms again he opened his eyes for a moment, but I didn’t see that. I had closed mine already and prepared for a very cosy night, snuggling up to his body. One of his hands appeared on my chest, the other on my dick.  
I appreciated his honesty. His straightforwardness. His will to take what he thought was his.  
I should give him a chance.

______


End file.
